i'm not a crook
by tetragrammaton
Summary: he swears it. rikuroxas.


**A/N;** i haven't submitted anything here in forever. all i have to say is please god forgive my terrible tense switches, i'm sorry this isn't longer, i'm sick in the head, and you shouldn't expect anything less from me.

**Standard disclaimers;** don't own these gorgeous boys, but i wish i did.

---

Somewhere between the cranked volume of the television and the noisy dinner table with its happy patrons piling on seconds and clattering their utensils, Roxas figured he'd had enough social exposure for the night. In fact, the abruptness of his announcement-- "Can I be excused?"-- caused some faces to even cross with worry. He always had been one to shy away from human contact, and while his progress was doing so well as of late with all the counseling and medication, he just couldn't take the happiness. Everyone was so ignorant, so happy, there was a tragedy afoot and all they could do was laugh. They say ignorance is bliss, and maybe it is the better way to go about life, but Roxas just can't feel it. He can't pretend like something isn't wrong somewhere, and it always is.

Shortly after he was excused and the silence starts back up into a quiet chatter, he drags his feet up the stairs and pulls on a hand knitted black toque from his early childhood, top pompom sheared off in a fit of rage and worn ever since. Next is a tight fitting checkerpatterned jacket, a pack of cigs and a lighter at hand. Out the door in a flash with the lit cancer stick between his lips, his eyes focus dully on the scenery. It's night and everyone has their kitchen lights on, their Christmas lights on, and copious amounts of company. Everyone is laughing for miles around, he feels like it's dancing around his head to tease him and he can't stand it. It's almost enough to drive him to stomp out that cig when he's barely had a hit, but he's distracted from his thoughts by a body that moves through the door. Great, the host of the party.

"Hey, what's up?" He asks, and he tosses his hair over his shoulder like a fucking princess as he balances his arms on the porch bannister like they're best friends, clasping his hands together.

"Nothing." Roxas replies curtly, gaze unwavering. He can see people moving behind the curtains.

"Nothing? It doesn't seem like nothing." _Back off, asshole. You just back the fuck off right now._

"I wouldn't lie." Only he really, really would. Especially to this dick who he's barely met before, but he's a friend of his father and that means he can't be snide.

"But I think you're lying right now." _Oh, wouldn't you? You dick_.

"It's nothing worth worrying about." And that really wasn't a lie, because it was the same old same old. Nothing new, nothing curable.

"You look nice tonight." He flicks his hair again, and god Roxas knows something is off about this conversation. He doesn't reply, and just shuffles his feet some.

"I'm not lying. Has anyone ever told you that? You'll probably look nice when you're older, too." Now instead of looking over to the blonde, his eyes focus out at the house across the street. It's pretty cold out, but it's easy enough to ignore, for him.

Roxas puffs out smoke. "That's great." He sounds uninterested as hell, but the guy pushes on.

"Your father's drunk." He tilts his head back toward the house. "You should stay the night, I'll have his mother drive him home." He knows, he knows, and Roxas can only just wince. Wince, and stay silent.

"Can't someone just bring me to my mom's?" Of course she's not there, she never is, and she'll never want to drive out this far on Christmas eve at eleven. Roxas can only hope, because he doesn't know how much his nerves will handle sleeping in a stranger's equally strange house. Really, weren't stuffed deer heads on the wall out of style? And all the antique furniture. Fucking nutcase.

"Your grandmother already has your father on her hands. Does he know you smoke?" Subject jump extraordinare, Roxas notes, and he also notes the way this guy is wringing his hands. Something is really, really wrong.

"I wouldn't be smoking here if he didn't." Roxas states the obvious. It is the obvious, isn't it? His father could've followed him out at any time, he would've been found out. "It's calming. He supports it as long as I can pay for myself and I don't do it often."

"Oh." Yeah, _oh_.

"Do you need something?" He tilts his head, staring at the guy. His fucking eyes are hypnotic, and it makes Roxas feel sick.

"Not really, no. Just wondering if you're holding up well." And without pushing the sleepover subject, he stands straight, brushes down the front of his sweater, and heads inside.

"Fucking freak." Roxas mutters in response to that, carelessly dropping his cigarette into the snow on the lawn so he can hold his head in his arms. More than ever, he just wants to go home.

---

It's one in the morning and every drunk bastard is carpooling for now. Roxas feels bad for the driver of that van, but only because the anxiety of the inevitable is catching up with him. He can't stop scratching his wrists.

Suddenly, there is a hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready for bed-"

"-I have to use the bathroom." He twists out of the guy's grip, trudging up the stairs.

"Wait, Roxas, that one's being used. There's one down here, let me show you." _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ His turning is slow, but he eventually stalks back down the stairs, trying his best to stay a good distance from that _guy_, but he insists on touching him all over, now a hand at the center of his back as he's guided to the other bathroom.

"What the hell is your name, anyway?" He's caught it a few times, but he hasn't paid attention enough. It probably starts with an S or something.

"Riku. You don't remember?" The smile he gives has a hint of disappointment. Roxas can't look for too long. The bathroom is like heaven when it's presented to him, and he knows it'll be easy to just hide away in there. Lock the door and hide away until Riku gives up on trying to coax him out.

"Sorry." He murmurs quickly, ready to just stride on in, but the silence in the house horrifies him. The image in the mirror horrifies him more.

Riku, a bottle, a towel, the smell of suffocating poison and then his body is overcome by the urge to sleep.

---

When he wakes up, everything is dark, cold, and unforgiving. Every sense comes back slowly, like his body is coming out of a coma. First, his sight. He can't see a damned thing, but he knows he's definitely not somewhere he wants to be. Then, taste and smell hit him head on, and he realizes there's a disgusting taste in his mouth, and a disgusting scent in the entire room. When touch comes in to play he feels the cold of a tile floor, and by that time his sight has adjusted to the darkness, and he can see and feel a porcelain bowl in front of his face.

He can also feel the cold jingling metal around his wrists. He's handcuffed around a fucking toilet, and the whole realization has him gagging with fear and disgust. The bruises on his neck are the last to be felt, but by that time he's coughing up sticky white film into the water of the basin, gasping for air.

"RIKU!" He shouts in distress, jostling the cuffs. _Why, why, why? Why me?_ He can't fathom why he deserved it, why someone like him, who tries to avoid humans at all cost, would deserve such vile treatment. He's not fun, he's not very attractive, and he's definitely not worth it. So why, why were there painful kissed bruises on his neck, and why the hell was he coughing up this bastard's come?

"RIKU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" He shrieks, and his voice is cracked. He doesn't register the tears on his cheeks until his nose starts running, and when he goes to wipe it with his sleeve, he curses up a storm, bumping his forehead against the bottom of the toilet and settling for his shoulder instead. He knows no one will hear him.

It was set up, and he should have run when he had the chance. Should have, could have, would have, but didn't, and all he could do was pray that he'd get out of this alive, or that his death would be quick. When Riku approaches as a silhouette in the bathroom doorway, he freezes, holding his breath, his sobs, and his heart in his throat.

The only thing the silver haired boy does is take long strides to the sink, setting a box in.

"I thought you'd like some music to help you sleep, since you'll be in here for a while." His voice isn't as nervous and cheerful as it was before. It's unfeeling and dull, like a programmed robot. He twists the dial on the side of the box, and the soft chimes fill the small room. Roxas started to sob long before Riku had even finished speaking, but that was that, and he locks the door behind himself.

All Roxas can do between choking sobs and chimes of the music box is notice how the lock was definitely on the outside of the door.

He had been planning this for so long.


End file.
